


These Dreams of You

by DesdemonaKaylose, neveralarch



Series: Banners from the Turrets [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Accidental HIPPA violation, Body Dysphoria, Communication, Decepticon Rung, Hand Feeding, M/M, Roleplay, Submissive Starscream, Therapy, extremely specific and somewhat concerning fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 07:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: Starscream doesn’t see any reason why you should give your secrets away, for free, simply because someone is sucking your spike. Why should they know anything about you? What’s the benefit? You can get along just fine without that kind of rustwash.Or: Starscream Traumatizes a Med Student





	These Dreams of You

**Author's Note:**

> This fic involves soft medical roleplay and submissive headspace. There’s a discussion of vore, but not any vore for real. It’s—look, read it, you’ll understand. Free free to ask if you need to know whether something in particular is included.
> 
> Ask Neveralarch how we got started on this story. Go on. Ask them.

“So,” Starscream said, slamming his palm flat against the wall beside Rung’s head, “hear about any good murder plots lately?” 

Rung jumped, datapad smacking against his chest, but then the second he realized it was Starscream crowding into his space, he relaxed. Starscream’s wings flicked up with irritation at the slight. 

“Starscream, you’re supposed to be on shift,” Rung said. “Didn’t you have bridge duty?” 

Starscream screwed up his face. “We got a hail from some jumped up little ensign and his grand majestic tyranny came up and booted me off, like I don’t know how to take a fragging message. I’ve got the rest of the shift free.”

“Did you want to join me in the mess?” Rung easily ducked under Starscream’s arm and began walking down the corridor, like he just expected Starscream to follow him. Starscream scowled and did just that, even though he’d actually tracked Rung down so he could pry Rung away from work and drag him into Starscream’s quarters. He didn’t get many opportunities to have Rung to himself. Megatron seemed to have a special sense for when Rung was paying attention to someone else, and would barge his way into the middle of their fragging regardless of whether they were in Starscream’s locked room or hidden in an unused storage closet.

Maybe Starscream could have Rung in his office, after they’d fueled. He had a little while until his appointment. If he even decided to go.

“Here, find us seats.” Rung held his datapads out to Starscream as they entered the noisy mess. “I’ll get our rations.”

Starscream resisted the urge to drop the datapads on the floor. It never felt as satisfying as he hoped, and Rung would always look so _ disappointed_. He focused on bullying Skywarp and Thundercracker out of their seats instead, so he could take the coveted corner table next to the window. Skywarp tried to argue, but Thundercracker’s self-preservation prevailed in the end. Starscream didn’t even have to maim either of them before Thundercracker was pulling Skywarp away.

“Oh, I love this table.” Rung set a pair of cubes down. “How lucky that it’s free.”

Starscream grunted. How long would they have to _ chat _before he could herd Rung away? He picked up the energon Rung had brought him. There was a streak where a little grit from Rung’s fingers had smeared against the cube.

“Washracks,” decided Starscream. “We’re going to the washracks after this. You’re letting yourself go.”

Rung hummed. “Isn’t your appointment today?”

“I’m skipping it,” said Starscream, and then peered at Rung for his reaction.

There wasn’t any. Why was Rung so relaxed? Megatron would have railed at Starscream for ignoring the slightest of his responsibilities, and this was something Starscream was doing as a personal favor to Rung.

“You’re not going to scold me?_ ” _ Starscream prodded. “Tell me how much I need to go to _ therapy _?”

“Not unless you want me to,” Rung took a complacent sip of energon. “I’m not your therapist and it’s none of my business what goes on in Aglet’s office.” Rung paused, though, and pushed his glasses down on his nose. “Unless something is going on that you think I should know about.”

Starscream scoffed. “I can handle whatever that wet little twerp comes at me with.”

Rung pushed his glasses back up and settled back in his seat, visibly relaxing. “How _ is _ Aglet doing?” he asked. “How’s his manner?”

“_Tedious,” _Starscream said.

“He needs to work on his confidence,” Rung said, nodding like Starscream had just confirmed a diagnosis.

“He needs to watch himself,” Starscream said, narrowing his eyes. “If he asks me how I _ feel _ about being _ constructed _ one more time, he’s going to find himself with a new hole to aerate.”

“I really want to thank you for doing this,” Rung said, voice warm despite Starscream’s threats. “It means a lot to me. Aglet has a lot of promise, but he still needs to learn how to deal with a real patient. I’d rather it be you than a traumatized foot soldier straight from the front lines.”

“He can learn how to deal with a missed appointment, then.” Starscream drained the rest of his cube and dispersed it before gathering up Rung’s datapads. “Come on, washracks. You’re filthy.”

Rung finished his cube and let himself be pulled up and out of the mess, the fingers of Starscream’s free hand wrapped tight around his wrist. His struts were so thin Starscream was practically just making a fist. “As long as you want to miss it,” Rung said. “Don’t do it just as a test. You have to be honest with him, he won’t learn anything if you aren’t.”

Starscream laughed. Rung had such ridiculous expectations. Aglet, learning things. Starscream being _ honest_.

“Oh, what were you talking about earlier?” asked Rung. “Murder plots?”

“Forget it.” Starscream kicked open the door to the nearest washracks, and scowled as he found them partially occupied. “Dirge! You have five seconds to get out before I start shooting!”

Rung turned his hand in Starscream’s grasp. Starscream thought for a moment that he was trying to get away, but then Rung twined his fingers with Starscream’s. As if Rung’s weak grip was enough restraint for him.

\---

Starscream arrived twenty minutes late for his appointment. Aglet tactfully didn’t comment on that, or the fact that Starscream’s seams were clearly damp with solvent.

“You look happy today,” he said instead. “Do you want to talk about why?”

Starscream smirked and leaned back in the comfortable armchair Aglet kept for patients. “I just fragged Rung in the third level washracks.”

Aglet didn’t flinch or gasp; Starscream had trained the shock out of him after only two or three appointments. The expression of neutral interest was practically welded on at this point.

Starscream crossed his legs, drawing attention to the lurid streak of orange paint on his hip. “I’m so sorry I was late,” he said. “But I just couldn’t leave Rung unsatisfied, and the third overload always takes a little longer.”

“Understandable.” Aglet wasn’t going to take the bait. He knew what Starscream was doing.

“Rung asked about you.” Starscream inspected his talons—there were flecks of orange on his index and middle finger as well. “Wanted to know how you were doing.”

“Oh?” Aglet resisted the urge to grit his teeth. Neutral, neutral. “Would you like to talk about your relationship with Rung?”

Starscream sighed. “Tedious. Just like I told Rung. You really need to work on your confidence.”

Aglet felt his optic twitch, just a little, before he managed to get it under control. Starscream noticed, of course, and smirked like he’d just won a point.

“These sessions are for your benefit,” Aglet reminded him. Neutral, polite voice, not the offended snarl his voicebox wanted to produce. “I only want to help—”

“I’m the one helping,” snapped Starscream. “This is _ training_, don’t delude yourself. I wouldn’t be here if Rung hadn’t asked. I could have you demoted with just a word. I could have you _ executed _with a sentence.”

Threats were far easier to take than Rung’s criticism. Aglet didn’t twitch this time, just met Starscream’s gaze with his own, cool and steady. After a moment Starscream looked away and settled back in his seat.

Point to Aglet. Not that you could actually win therapy, he had to remember that.

“Have you written anything new in your journal?” he asked.

Starscream tossed a datapad to him instead of answering. Being Starscream’s therapist was also good for Aglet’s reflexes—Starscream hadn’t actually managed to hit him with anything since the fifth session. Aglet turned the datapad on and started skimming the entries for anything they ought to discuss.

“You’ve been having more intrusive thoughts about murdering Megatron,” he observed.

“I have some poisoned energon under my berth,” said Starscream. “In a black case, about the size of your fat little helm. Sometimes I think about dripping it into Megatron’s mouth while he snores. It would make my life so much… simpler.”

Aglet made a note to himself on the separate datapad he kept on a side table. There wasn’t a desk between him and Starscream—you had to be accessible, both physically and symbolically. “Would it really be simpler if Megatron was dead?”

“Quieter, at least.” Starscream’s gaze was fixed on Aglet’s datapad. “Do you tell Rung about these sessions?”

“No, of course not.” Aglet put a hand over his notes, splaying all eight of his fingers to hide the screen. “Anything you say here is confidential.”

“Unless I’m a threat to myself or others,” said Starscream, sing-song. “I’m a very threatening mech, don’t you think? Don’t you know what happened to the Senate?”

Neutral, neutral. Mild. _ Confident_. “I think you get more satisfaction from imagining Megatron’s death than you’d ever get from causing it.”

Starscream scowled. Aglet let it go and continued scrolling through the new entries in Starscream’s journal. They’d already wasted too many sessions discussing Starscream’s performative hatred of Megatron. Aglet didn’t think it was actually an issue that needed to be resolved. More of a hobby than a complex, something to be paraded to draw attention rather than hidden to protect it.

Aglet wasn’t entirely sure what they were trying to accomplish in therapy—Starscream wouldn’t tell him what his real goals were. First it was ‘because Rung asked me to,’ then ‘to cure my imposter syndrome,’ and finally when it became clear that Starscream was proud of being an imposter they’d gone back to ‘because Rung begged me to humor you.’ But Aglet liked to think that he was trying to find those hidden, vulnerable parts of Starscream. Bring them out into the open and show Starscream that they didn’t need to be hidden, that they didn’t have to hurt.

There was an entry from two days ago, in the middle of Starscream’s rest cycle. It just said ‘wrong shape.’

Aglet held up the datapad so Starscream could see it. “What does this mean?”

Starscream made a face. “It’s a constructed thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Primus, Aglet wished it wasn’t so obvious he’d been forged. “I know, but I’d like to try.”

“Sometimes,” said Starscream, slow like he was speaking to someone who’d just come out of the ground or stepped off the assembly line, “your frame just doesn’t _ fit _. Not exactly.”

There was a whole book about frame dysphoria. Rung had written it. It was the second-most common reason for seeking therapy in the Decepticon army, right after combat trauma. Aglet didn’t mention any of that.

“When you offline your optics,” he said, “how do you see yourself?”

Starscream didn’t hesitate. “Big. Easily bigger than Megatron. An alt-mode suited for deep space exploration and taking over alien planets single-handedly. At _ least _eight rocket launchers.”

Aglet made another note to himself. He hadn’t figured out how to get from Starscream’s lies to the vulnerable truth yet, but he didn’t think asking directly would get him anywhere. He set that aside for a moment and skimmed to the next entry.

Another fantasy about energon. You’d think Starscream was perpetually on half-rations. “Have you talked to Rung or Megatron about your desire to be fueled?” asked Aglet. “You write about it a lot.”

“I don’t have them for _ talking_,” said Starscream. “I thought that’s what you were for.”

Another point to Aglet. “Alright, then let’s talk about it. What appeals to you about,” he checked the datapad again, “being secured to a medbay slab and having an emergency energon tube spliced into your throat?”

Starscream’s optics glowed with hatred. For a moment Aglet wished that he had the solid comfort of a desk between them after all, but this was the _ point, _wasn’t it? To be confident enough to push Starscream and strong enough to take his reaction, all in the service of helping Starscream accept himself?

“There’s something intimate about energon,” said Starscream at last. “It powers us. Runs through our lines. I mean, almost everything about the concept of innermost energon is erotic, isn’t it?”

Aglet made a noise of agreement, just vague enough to encourage Starscream to continue.

“Would you like to hear something I haven’t written down?” asked Starscream. “A dream I’ve had. Well?”

“Yes,” said Aglet. “Please.”

“I’m asleep in my berth.” Starscream’s thumb rubbed a circle on his thigh, right above his knee. “I wake, with Megatron leaning over me, and he opens his mouth, so _ wide _, and I can’t move, I can’t get away. He picks me up, dangles me between his clumsy fists, and drops me into his maw. Swallows me whole. His throat squeezes me as I slide down, down, and I land in his fueltank. It’s dark there, and quiet. It’s too small for me to stretch, the walls press against my wings even as I curl tight around my spark to protect it. And I stay there, slowly dissolving into fuel, while Megatron walks around in the light. What does that mean, do you think?”

Aglet had to reset his voicebox a couple times before he could clear the static. Starscream’s writing was never so vivid—just a few scribbled notes like _ injured in battle, can’t fly _ or _ hidden pit of spikes under Megatron’s desk_. 

“Well,” began Aglet, still trying to shake the image of Megatron’s black hole of a mouth, “do you feel secure, in the dream? Or is it frightening?”

“I’ve had a dream about Rung, too,” mused Starscream. “But he’s not big enough to swallow me whole. He has to take me apart, component by component, with the little tools he uses to build his models. I watch him as he eats, bolts and gears and strands of wiring. He tells me how good I taste. How sweet, how delicate. Do you know how that feels? Looking down and seeing only half of you there? Watching the energon drip out of your disconnected tubing to be licked up by another mech’s tongue?”

Aglet couldn’t clear the static this time. “No, I don’t—”

Starscream grinned. Aglet couldn’t help noticing how sharp his fangs were—had he been constructed with those teeth, or had he chosen them himself?

“Would you like to find out?” crooned Starscream, and Aglet felt his neutral mask crack and shatter on impact.

\---

When Aglet turned up at his quarters, pounding on Rung’s door like he was perfectly willing to keep it up until he had punched a hole in the steel big enough to wriggle through, Rung first assumed there had been an emergency in the medical bay. Although he’d long since brushed up on his anatomy well enough to stand in as a field medic, he was most useful functioning as triage, or else supporting the nurses. If they were coming to get him at this hour, it must be all hands on deck. Sawtooth was head surgeon on the base, and he had already proven himself more than capable of handling any _ single _medical emergency…

Rung knocked back the rest of his evening ration and grabbed his wheelpack off the floor. He rarely wore it in his off hours anymore, but it made the unwieldy endeavor of carting around heavy, unconscious soldiers much easier once it was unfolded. 

“What’s going on?” he said, throwing open the door, and then noticed a second late that it wasn’t Hook or any of the other medics frantically knocking for his attention. It was just Aglet, all but vibrating like a blender, wide eyed and looking past Rung like the room was some kind of sanctuary.

“...Why don’t you come in,” Rung said, abruptly switching modes.

He set the wheelpack down by the door, allowing Aglet to skitter in behind him. Had he left out anything inappropriate from the last time Megatron visited? He wouldn’t have. He knew he wouldn’t have. Even so, Rung fought the urge to double check that his counters and chair were empty of anything… mm. _ Intimate_.

“I’m starting to think I should change my office hours,” Rung remarked, locking the room securely behind them both. “I keep getting visitors here.”

Aglet turned around, hands wringing in front of his chassis. With his several extra digits, the effect was somewhat disorienting. “Rung,” he said, “What do I do with a patient who wants to _ eat _ people?”

Rung gave him an uncertain look. “They told you this?”

Aglet glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Implied it. They were describing an interface fantasy, and—his _ teeth _—the way he looked at me, I couldn’t—”

Although Aglet was a head taller than Rung to begin with, he was demonstrating an uncanny ability to hunch his gangling frame into something that managed to make Rung feel like the tall one. He made a face, lips pulling flat into a grimace, as he closed his many-fingered fists.

“I know,” he said. “I should be able to handle this by myself. It’s just—he looked—and anyway Starscream’s _ fragging _you so I figure you should know—”

“Aglet,” Rung said.

“Plus if anyone is far enough up the chain to put a collar on Starscream I figure it’s you, I mean you’ve got Megatron in your—”

“Aglet!” Rung said sharply, clapping his hands together with a harsh ring.

Aglet halted, warily, watching him for tells.

For a moment, Rung considered coming out with his standard _ don’t worry, fantasies can be very unsettling but people rarely act on them, especially when they’re as unrealistic as this. _ But then it occurred to him where he was, and who he was surrounded by, and he paused for a moment to evaluate what realistic meant in this context. He held up a warning finger when Aglet tried to speak again.

Better get the facts.

“First thing,” Rung sighed. “Please don’t ever tell me the name of a patient you want my consultation on, especially if there’s a conflict of interest such as my... sleeping with them. If we need to escalate this to a justice issue, you can tell me their names at _ that _ point. And that goes doubly for discussing patients with non-psych ops personnel, although I would _ hope _you knew that without my having to say it.”

“I don’t exactly have a lot of patients,” Aglet muttered. “It would have been pretty obvious.”

“Second thing,” Rung went on, talking over him, “what _ precisely _did he say, since you’ve already made me complicit?”

So Aglet told him. And told him. Rung sat back on the berth and let Aglet tell him, even though it pretty quickly turned from a halting description of Starscream’s unnervingly visceral fantasies of being devoured by unnamed mechs into a frustrated tirade on Starscream’s unhelpful stonewalling, unasked-for performance critique, and generally poor attitude. Rung just let it wash over him. This was, to be honest, why he’d been pushing to bring in additional psych ops personnel. It was dangerous not to have someone to talk to, when you were processing other people’s trauma every day. 

“—It’s not like I expect him to open his spark to me,” said Aglet, “but some _ respect _ would be nice. He shows up late to his appointment every time, did you know that? I had to wait half a shift once, and then he just showed up like he _ knew _I didn’t have anything else to do, like he’s more important than—”

Although Primus knew Rung had weathered periods of isolation on the job. He’d served as the sole psychiatrist on large ships before, and it was… survivable. But there was a _ war _ unfolding, all around them, and it didn’t seem to be getting any less fraught day by day. If anything, he sometimes felt, they were building up a head of steam. 

“—Really felt like he was opening up, and then he _ threatens _ me. That was a threat, wasn’t it? Not like his normal ones, a real one. I’m not overreacting? If you’d seen his teeth, I mean, I know you’ve seen his teeth, but if you’d seen the way he was _ using _them, you’d—”

Maybe Rung could do it alone—maybe he could take it—but the young bots, the ones fresh from the mold, only just beginning to develop their own identities? They needed someone to lean on. And he wouldn’t be around forever.

“And we were finally getting somewhere! He wastes half of our sessions talking about killing Megatron, it’s ridiculous. When we all _ know _he wouldn’t, he, he’s just—” Aglet gestured angrily to a note in his datapad, momentarily wordless, the panels that would make up his radar dish flexing and flaring with each jab of his finger. Rung nodded along. Aglet might not be as young as some of the other recruits, but he’d spent most of his functioning locked into his alt mode, relaying signals across the planet, bearing mute witness to the conversations of countless thousand strangers. He deserved the chance to complain a bit.

When the tirade had burned down to more smoke than fire, Rung waved a hand at the desk chair and said, “Would you like to take a seat?”

Reluctantly, Aglet settled down.

Rung folded his hands in his lap. “Okay. Here’s how you parse something like this, with your theoretical patient who isn’t Starscream. The actual fantasies are about being the victim in these scenarios, aren’t they? That’s where the detail is, that’s what he’s actually interested in.”

Aglet nodded slowly.

“Alright,” Rung said. “It’s very unlikely he plans to cannibalize anyone. Consider what underlying themes you’re observing here. What desire do they satisfy? What potential need isn’t being seen to for this mech?”

Aglet’s posture slid slowly from wound-up anxiety to genuine thoughtfulness. Rung waited patiently until Aglet realized that he was expected to answer the question.

“He wants to be vulnerable,” offered Aglet. “But he, um, he can’t let himself be seen as weak. He lashes out? There’s a fantasy he told me about where he’s being tortured, and the Autobots force him to—”

“I don’t need the details,” said Rung, but he kept his expression open and his voice soft. It was a good observation. Aglet was going to be an excellent therapist one day, if he could just get his feet under him. And Primus knew Starscream needed a good therapist. One too many times had Rung pulled back just at the cusp of giving Starscream some far too professional instruction, words on the tip of his tongue. 

It couldn’t be him, it absolutely could not be him—not when Starscream looked at him in certain moments as if he would do anything for Rung’s approval, no matter how difficult or deleterious. Even if there was no one left to reprimand Rung for such a breach of ethics. Even if there was no one else to care for his effect on Starscream. There had to be a line.

“If there was,” Rung went on, “a hypothetical patient who you were worried wasn’t getting proper support or intimacy in his relationships and might do something unsafe because of it, I would try to gently guide him into sharing more with his partners. You can’t fix his relationships for him, and he can’t receive what he doesn’t ask for. There are ways to do this without speaking for him or breaking his privacy. For example…”

\---

Starscream slapped the datapad down on Rung’s desk, without bothering to announce himself. The office was empty anyway. Starscream had hacked Rung’s calendar ages ago, and there were no appointments coming up any time soon. From the looks of his desk, right now Rung was up to his skinny neck in medical requisition forms.

Rung adjusted his glasses. “What’s this?” he said. 

Starscream rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms. “Your little scraplet has me writing down blackmail material for myself. Which is pointless, by the way, because I’m not embarrassed, and anyway no one would believe him if he _ did _talk.” 

Rung squinted at him. “Do you mean he has you _ journaling?” _

Starscream tapped the screen with two fingers. “These are all my fantasies from the last couple of sessions,” he said. “Daydreams. Regular dreams. Intrusive thoughts. Aglet says I’m supposed to ‘share’ my ‘needs’ with you—” he made quotation marks around each word, lip curling, “—so we can ‘reach a mutually beneficial intimate understanding’.”

Rung looked down at the datapad. He looked up. He folded his hands together, not yet touching the datapad even to switch the screen on. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Rung said. He said it gently, like Starscream didn’t _ know _ that. Like his dweeby little mentee could even dream of making Starscream do something he didn’t want to do. Aglet hadn’t even bothered to break into Starscream’s quarters and look for the black case of poison. Starscream could tell, because no one had set off the tripwire.

“If you’re afraid to read them just _ say _ so,” Starscream sneered. “It’s not my fault if I’m too adventurous for you.”

“Starscream,” Rung said, lifting one of his stupid eyebrows, “I’ve been a psychotherapist for two million years. I have heard quite a lot of interface fantasies. I’m not going to judge you.”

“I don’t care if you judge me! That’s the only reason I’m even showing you this, to prove I _ don’t _ care, so that little twerp will get off my case about it.”

Rung slid the datapad towards himself and turned it on. He didn’t say anything else for several minutes after that. His fingers drifted over the screen, pausing occasionally as he read a longer section. His expression barely moved.

Starscream shifted his weight from hip to hip, looking at anything but Rung. He couldn’t leave _ now _ , because that would look like he was afraid of Rung’s reaction, but it was insufferable waiting for Rung to _ say _ something. 

After an interminable amount of silent scrolling, Rung paused over something. “Oh,” he said, in a soft voice. “Oh, I’m in this one.”

Starscream stiffened, wings flicking upward.

Rung looked up, like he’d heard the sound of it, and fixed Starscream with a hesitant gaze. Then he looked back down, scrolling backwards, brows furrowed. “What would you like me to do with this?”

“Do?” Starscream forced his wings down. “It’s just a datapad. You can keep it, I have my own copy.”

“No, I mean,” Rung waved a hand, “would you like to talk about any of these fantasies? Try them out?”

Starscream had a brief, foolish moment where he imagined Rung, the real actual Rung, stepping into one of his pointless daydreams. Opening his spark chamber to let Starscream see inside, or hooking his thin fingers into Starscream’s neck cables, or even taking Starscream’s thumb into his mouth and biting down, hard, harder than Starscream could tolerate, and—

Starscream stepped forward, looming over where Rung was perched in his chair. “What are you talking about?”

Rung didn’t look up from the datapad, effortlessly comfortable with being the smallest and weakest mech in the room. “Obviously I don’t want to damage you, and some of these simply can’t be put into practice. But I think we could incorporate some roleplay into our free time. Especially if there’s something you’d particularly like?”

“Roleplay.” Starscream tested the word out. He wasn’t sure what it meant in this context, but he was damned if he was going to show it.

“It’s when you take on a temporary role within an encounter,” said Rung, as annoyingly perceptive as ever. “It’s a nice way to explore preferences or interests that might not otherwise—”

“Oh, I’ve done that.” Starscream settled back against Rung’s desk. “Like when someone has a wing kink and you’re not really into it, but you pretend that getting transfluid splashed over your flaps is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Rung winced. “I was hoping for something we would both like.”

Starscream’s optics narrowed. “You want to trade? For what?” Starscream could humor one of Rung’s fetishes, as long as it wasn’t something disgusting like oil changing or holding hands in public. If Rung wanted more power in the army that would be… difficult. Starscream wasn’t sure if anything in the datapad was worth undermining Megatron, except to the extent that it fit with his existing plans. If Rung wanted—

“We don’t need to trade,” said Rung. “I’ve told you before, I enjoy giving people what they need.”

“I don’t need anything,” said Starscream. “I don’t know what your minion has told you, but I’m fine.”

“I enjoy making you happy,” amended Rung. “If it would make you _ happy _to be,” he flicked quickly through the datapad, “to be held in place, or taken care of, or fed, I can do that. Just as a game, just for us. I could even talk to Megatron, see if he’d be interested in—”

“Don’t you dare show this to Megatron,” snapped Starscream, then suppressed a flinch. Now he sounded invested, like this was something that could hurt him.

Rung finally set the datapad aside and reached for Starscream. Starscream pulled back, but Rung’s expression was _ so _pitiable. He relented and let Rung hold one of his hands, if it was that important to him.

“I wouldn’t let anyone see this datapad without your permission,” said Rung, with sickening earnestness. “I’m very happy you’ve trusted me with it.”

Starscream scowled. Aglet was always pestering him about _ trust in intimate relationships _. Like you should just give things away because someone was sucking your spike.

“Is it alright if I talk to Megatron?” Rung’s fingers twined through the joints of Starscream’s hand. “Or would you prefer if I kept this between us?”

“Do what you like.” Starscream pushed himself away from the desk, pulled out of Rung’s grasp. “I have my shift, I have to go.”

“I understand.” Rung smiled at him. “Do you want to talk more about this later, or—”

Wasn’t there an _ end _to this? Starscream had wanted the datapad to end all the pestering, not invite more of it. He crossed the room and slapped the door panel to open it. “I told you already,” he called over his shoulder as he made his escape, “do what you want!” 

\---

Apparently what Rung wanted was to ignore the whole question of _ roleplay _for three days. Three days in which Starscream increasingly regretted not setting more limits on Rung’s use of that datapad. He’d deleted any mention of murdering Megatron from Rung’s copy of his journal, he wasn’t an idiot, but there were plenty of other incriminating entries. Starscream was also being plagued by more idle fantasies. What if Rung really did sit at Starscream’s feet, murmuring praise and devotion as he cleaned Starscream’s thrusters? Starscream thought he’d enjoy that. What if Rung ambushed him while Starscream was recharging, and Starscream woke up with his optics and voicebox disconnected, at Rung’s mercy? Starscream thought—he wasn’t sure what he thought about that one.

By the time Rung commed him on the fourth day and asked Starscream to come to Megatron’s quarters, Starscream felt like his jaw was going to rust in place from clenching it. He checked and double-checked that Megatron was definitely on duty in the control room, then opened his door with the code Rung had given him.

The quarters were blessedly Megatron-free. Rung was sitting in Megatron’s armchair, reading a datapad, his glasses discarded on the side table. He looked up as Starscream entered.

“You wrote that you wanted to frag in Megatron’s berth while he was on duty,” said Rung. “It took a while for schedules to align, but,” he waved a hand, “here you are.”

“Starting small, are we?” Starscream had never been allowed in Megatron’s rooms when Megatron wasn’t there. He considered taking the opportunity to explore, but sat on the berth instead. Rung would probably make a fuss if Starscream tried to set any booby traps.

Rung set the datapad aside and got up, crossing the room so he was standing in front of Starscream. With him standing and Starscream sitting Starscream was _ still _ taller. He felt a familiar pang of _ not right _ and shook his wings to dispel it.

“Lie down.” Rung put his hand on Starscream’s shoulder, not quite pushing. Starscream lay down anyway. Was Rung going to ride him? Maybe Starscream would make a recording, send it to Megatron to reassure him that Rung was being kept warm while Megatron was on shift.

But when Rung climbed up to join Starscream, he merely perched on Starscream’s chest. The full body weight of him was just enough to make Starscream feel pinned, although not enough to buckle his plating or anything. Starscream eyed him, and eyed the edge of the berth. He could definitely throw Rung off if he wanted to. Of course then Rung would act all stoic and pretend not to be hurt about it and give Starscream one of his interminable lectures about _ using your words_, so there were multiple factors to take into consideration before initiating an escape plan.

Rung sat back, rummaging in one of his endless compartments. His pedes and ankles held their firm pressure against Starscream’s arms, not so much forcing them against his sides as firmly suggesting they stay there.

Something green and shining appeared in Rung’s fingers. He held the bubble up to the light, feigning surprise. “Oh, how strange,” he said, as the light shifted inside the gem-clear center of the treat, “I appear to have brought candy in here by mistake.”

“You conniving little glitch,” Starscream said, reluctantly impressed. 

“I have no idea what you mean,” Rung said, peeling the foil from the bottom of the gel treat. “Do you want one?”

“I’m going to kick you,” Starscream said. “Yes, obviously.”

Rung smiled for him. There wasn’t a lot of smiling on a Decepticon ship in war time. Something about the way it curved Rung’s faceplate around those green-blue optics made Starscream’s fuel pump hiccup.

“Open up,” Rung said, wiggling the treat in what he probably thought an enticing way.

Starscream scowled at him. “I can feed myself,” he said.

“No you can’t,” Rung said. “You can’t even sit up. You’re grounded. You had a terrible crash, and you’re on strict berth rest.”

“_You,” _ Starscream started to say, but Rung squeezed him firmly with his thighs and pressed a delicate finger to Starscream’s mouth.

“Shhh,” Rung said, “let me take care of you. Don’t make a fuss. What would the doctor say?”

Starscream gave the finger against his lips a skeptical look. “You’re my nurse, then, are you?”

“We can do that if you like,” Rung agreed easily, taking his hand back. Starscream didn’t miss the warm pressure at all.

“Bit of a come down in the world, hmm? Busted from CMO to down to _ nurse_.”

Rung lifted an eyebrow at him. “But you have me all to yourself,” he said, leaning his weight forward on his palm, shifting against Starscream’s chestplate. “Aren’t you lucky?”

Starscream’s blasted interface protocols onlined right then and there, and at that point he decided it was best to just act as if this had been his idea all along.

“Now,” Rung said, “Say _ ah.” _

Starscream opened his mouth and allowed Rung to gently push the sweet green bubble over his lips and onto his tongue, where it dissolved into sweet green froth. Oh these were _ cadmium_. Damn Rung, he loved cadmium.

“_Very _ good,” Rung said, stroking Starscream’s cheek vents with his thumb. “How is it?”

Starscream gave him a narrow look, twisting his face away. “Where did you even _ get _ these? It’s wartime, nobody’s running _confectioneries_.”

Rung offered him one of those little smirks. “A good therapist always knows where to get candy,” he said, and pulled another of the damned things from his forearm compartment. “Now, open for me…”

Starscream obeyed. A low warm ache radiated through his hips and the closed panel of his interface array.

Rung’s fingers were a warm, fleeting presence against his lips, the candy a burst of sweet metals and bright sour trace elements. Rung took his face in both hands and gently kissed him, holding him still when he instinctively tried to shy away. His tongue stroked over Starscream’s, licking up the last of the sweetness as Starscream moaned in surprise. The warm ache sharpened into a hot throb.

Rung pulled back, another candy in hand. Starscream hadn’t bothered to close his mouth after Rung left it.

Rung held the candy against Starscream’s mouth, just resting against his lip. Starscream licked it messily out of his fingers, leaving sticky sweet oral solvent all over his own lips and Rung’s fingertips. No sooner had he swallowed down the mouthful than Rung was slipping his fingers one at a time into Starscream’s mouth to be sucked clean.

“You’re doing so well,” Rung murmured. There was something in the way he spoke to Starscream, at times like these—his optics so bright they almost burned, his motions so gentle they bordered on reverent—like Starscream was all he cared for in the world, like anything Starscream did was wonderful and perfect, like Starscream could ask him for anything and he would make it so.

Starscream made a needy noise around Rung’s finger, trying to coax it deeper.

“Shh,” Rung said, and pulled himself free of Starscream’s mouth with a pop.“You can have more. No need to be greedy.”

Rung fed him another, this one cobalt and bittersweet, all the while holding Starscream’s cheek in the cup of his other hand. Starscream left his lips parted, tongue presented shamelessly for Rung’s use. Rung made an approving little hum, petting cheek vents with a gentle thumb.

“My favorite patient,” Rung murmured. “You want to be a good boy for me, don’t you?”

His delicate fingers lingered in Starscream’s mouth, this time, stroking over the wet softness with the pad of his thumb. Starscream shivered. He could taste the slight coppery tang of Rung’s metal, but more than that, he could almost taste the gentleness in the way Rung touched him. He opened his jaw a little wider to let Rung in deeper, hoping that Rung would.

Roleplaying was… odd. Starscream knew that this wasn’t real, that he could get up whenever he liked. And Rung would never compromise his antiquated ethics by touching a patient like this. But that knowledge felt distant, when Rung’s fingers were still pressing on the inside of Starscream’s cheek and Rung’s optics were fixed on Starscream’s face. Starscream’s wings were beginning to feel numb, like they really had been damaged. Like he really was grounded, lying in berth and being taken care of. He even felt smaller, when Rung leaned over and filled Starscream’s vision.

Rung took out another candy, this one with red swirls of bromine. Starscream waited, relaxed and open, being _ good_, but Rung popped the candy in his own mouth instead. Starscream whined, feeling betrayed, then whined louder when Rung pulled his fingers out of Starscream’s mouth. Had he done something wrong? Was Rung going to leave? Would—

Rung bent forward and kissed Starscream again, open-mouthed, pushing the lightly fizzing bromine candy onto Starscream’s tongue. Starscream felt his panel snap open and his spike pressurize so fast it ached.

Rung didn’t react, just kept kissing Starscream as their mouths filled with syrupy sweet solvent. But he did shift back, until his aft bumped against Starscream’s spike and Starscream trembled with the effort of holding still.

Rung broke the kiss but didn’t pull away, his nose still brushing against Starscream’s. His thumb rubbed against Starscream’s chin, spreading the drops of solvent that had escaped before Starscream had swallowed. 

“Good,” murmured Rung. “_Very _ good. Would you like another?”

Starscream opened his mouth as wide as he could and begged.

\---

Rung ended the scene once Starscream overloaded. Rung didn’t feel the need to chase an overload himself—the satisfaction of having provided this for Starscream was buzzing in his struts, and Rung enjoyed it too much to let it go.

Starscream had been non-verbal for the better part of an hour by now, and didn’t show any signs of surfacing from the hungry, wanting role he’d dropped into. Rung cleaned the transfluid off their plating with a cloth from his subspace, then carefully arranged himself on Starscream’s chest so that their respective vents could keep each other warm. Rung’s helm rested comfortably against the swell of Starscream’s cockpit.

“Did you like that?” asked Rung, trying to coax Starscream back into awareness.

“Mm.” Starscream shifted, curling one arm around Rung’s waist to hold him in place.

“I liked it,” said Rung. “I’d like to do more for you, if you’d tell me what you want.”

“I don’t,” said Starscream. His voice was thick with static, and he didn’t seem to have an ending to that sentence in mind.

“You can tell me,” murmured Rung. “You can trust me. I feel so proud when you trust me.”

“It’s not.” Starscream had to clear his vocalizer. “It’s not something we can _ play.”_

“Tell me anyway,” said Rung, aware that he was pushing but unable to pull himself back.

“I don’t fit in my frame,” said Starscream, in a rush.

Rung made an encouraging noise. He tried to ignore the diagnosis that was already spooling itself out in his processor. Eighty-seven percent of cold constructs experienced frame dysphoria. Rung already knew Starscream was one of them. The constant refits, the way Starscream fussed at every scratch, the oblique notes in his journal. It was yet another thing always tempting Rung to act the therapist instead of the lover.

But if Starscream _ wanted _to talk about it—

“I’m too _ big_,” said Starscream, and _ oh_, Rung hadn’t expected that.

“What shape do you think you should be?” he asked.

Starscream didn’t say anything for a while, just vented and curled his fingers tight around Rung’s hip. “Small,” he said at last. “Someone with an interstellar altmode, but not a shuttle. I’d have wide solar sails trailing from a spindly little frame, so pared down that you can see my struts as I walk through a room. Smaller and weaker than you. Not suited for war at all.”

There was a relay fluttering in Starscream’s throat. Rung ran his hand along Starscream’s cockpit, trying to soothe him. He wished for a moment that he could say a magic word and make all of the things that made Starscream sound ashamed go away. Get rid of the council and its history of cramming sparks into ready-made cages. Reach into the processor of every mech who ever thought you needed to be useful to be valuable and pluck the poison out. Even Megatron, who championed the right of every mech to reshape himself—but only if he would shape himself into one of the thousands of gears in the Decepticon war machine.

“It’s ridiculous,” muttered Starscream. “I need to be powerful, I need to be _ dangerous_—”

“Couldn’t you be powerful and small?” asked Rung.

“Like you?” Starscream snorted. “Please. You’re unique.”

It was suddenly as if Rung had lost cabin pressure in his fuel pump. He stilled, palm flat on Starscream’s cockpit, as this strange phantom vacuum tried to pull him in every direction. 

Starscream fixed him with one muzzy, suspicious optic. Starscream, who looked at the world and saw it broken into things he wanted and things he hated—Starscream, who coveted most of all things these: power, attention, respect—

“You think I’m powerful?” Rung said.

Starscream scoffed, although he didn’t seem to have much energy for it. “Well of course you’re powerful,” he said. “You’ve got the _ mighty Megatron _ wrapped around your finger, not to mention how many of those fragging nurses will only listen to _ you_, no matter how many times I tell them I outrank you.”

Rung stared hard at the glass underneath his hand: the arc of it, the light glancing off its curvature, how strange it looked under his mundane and forgettable hand.

Objectively yes, Rung held a certain amount of authority among the legions here. And his uniqueness, such as it was, was a matter of state record. But when Starscream said it together, like that, in that tone of casual conviction, it didn’t mean _ any _of those things. Just like it had in the office, as he read his own name in Starscream’s journal, an awareness of himself as a person who existed overwhelmed Rung, dizzying him. He’d assumed that Starscream fantasized about Megatron, or about unattainable beauties. 

His fingers left no smudges on the pristine glass._ I didn’t know you thought of me at all_.

“Didn’t think you were the type to need your ego stroked,” Starscream mumbled, optics dimming again. “You want that, you’re gonna need to tell me the trade _ before _you frag me.”

Rung didn’t know how to respond to that, and Starscream didn’t seem inclined to continue. They lapsed into silence, piled together in Megatron’s sprawling berth.

\---

Starscream dozed for a while, his frame worn out and his processor lulled into complacency by the weight of Rung still lying on his chest. Every once in a while he’d decide it was time to get up and do something useful with himself, but then Rung would stroke one delicate hand down Starscream’s side or mumble some hopelessly endearing nonsense and Starscream would find himself relaxing into the berth again. After the third time Starscream disabled his chronometer so at least he wouldn’t know how much time he was wasting here.

At some point the door opened and Megatron trudged into the room. Starscream could tell it was him even with his optics offline—only Megatron could make walking sound like a threat. Also, this _ was _Megatron’s berth. Starscream started making plans for a quick escape.

“End of shift, and this is what greets me.” Megatron sighed. “I suppose you expect me to recharge at my desk? Is this the respect your leader deserves?”

Starscream revised his plans. He was going to stay in this berth until Megatron dragged him out of it. He kept his optics offline and his vents slow, feigning recharge.

Rung shifted on Starscream’s chest. “Should we go?” he asked, giving in like he didn’t even realize Megatron’s spark was his to crush.

“Hmm.” Megatron leaned in, the warmth of his engine venting against Starscream’s wing, There was a soft sound, and then another, and then a wet clink of metal on metal—were they _ kissing _ ? Literally over Starscream’s recharging frame? Starscream didn’t know how to react to that. Half of him wanted to buck upward and disrupt them, and the other half wanted to just online his optics and watch. Except then they’d _ know _he was awake, and it was probably time for his shift, and Megatron would seize on any excuse to get rid of him—

“A very persuasive argument,” murmured Megatron. His thigh was actually pressing against Starscream’s side, now. “But if you stay in the berth, where am I supposed to go?”

“I think we can fit,” said Rung. “In fact—” and then his voice lowered, too quiet for Starscream to hear. Like he was whispering into Megatron’s audial.

“I don’t think,” said Megatron reluctantly, and stopped while Rung whispered some more. “He’s asleep,” said Megatron, sounding a little less reluctant. Wait, was _ Rung _trying to get rid of Starscream now? Was he persuading Megatron to throw Starscream out into the corridor? Starscream should have known he couldn’t trust him.

“He’s not asleep,” said Rung. “I can feel his processor trying to vibrate out of his helm.”

Starscream flicked his optics on, indignant, just in time to see Rung sliding off his chest and Megatron bending down to scoop Starscream into his arms.

Surprise was only on Megatron’s side for a microsecond. Unfortunately, that seemed to be enough time to secure his hold on Starscream, his powerful arms wrapped around Starscream’s back and thighs, keeping him curled sideways in Megatron’s lap as Megatron sat on the berth. 

Starscream tried to hit Megatron with his wing and slapped it uselessly on Megatron’s shoulder. He tried to kick, but Rung was out of reach and Megatron didn’t even grunt as Starscream’s thruster jarred against Megatron’s thigh on the backswing. Starscream’s left arm was held in Megatron’s fist, and his right arm was trapped against Megatron’s chest. He couldn’t reach anything worth biting.

Null rays, then. Starscream snarled at Megatron as he started their charging sequence.

“There, there,” said Megatron in a bored tone. “Calm down, you little weakling.”

Starscream kicked him again.

“You’re so small and powerless,” said Megatron, his voice deepening a little. Oh, was he getting off on this? Sick fragger. “Helpless. I could hold you here for hours and you wouldn’t be able to do anything, would you? You’re so spindly and delicate, I could snap you if I squeeze too tight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” growled Starscream. “I’m not _ Rung_.”

“No, you’re smaller than that.” Megatron’s arms tightened, pressing Starscream’s knees against his cockpit. “Practically a minibot.”

“Are you getting coding errors?” Starscream tried and failed to squirm. “I’m a warbuild, you idiot, I was constructed for-”

“So small,” repeated Megatron, with the same conviction Starscream had first heard at a rally with a thousand onlookers, Megatron’s voice booming through dozens of amplifiers. “Beautiful.”

The null ray charging sequence had stalled out. Starscream tried to reboot it, but the commands felt somehow complicated and slow, like he was trying to make battle plans while halfway through a pitcher of engex. He felt a hand on his cheek and startled, kicking Megatron just as ineffectively as before.

“He’ll let you go if you really want,” murmured Rung, stroking down the line of Starscream’s chin. “Or he can hold you, and let you struggle, and keep you small and helpless.”

Starscream’s null rays powered down from inactivity. Rung hadn’t put his glasses back on—his optics were so large and blue, completely focused on Starscream’s face. Starscream’s tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth.

“Kick once for stop, twice for keep going,” said Rung, still quiet, still something Starscream could pretend wasn’t really being said at all.

He kicked Megatron, just once. Megatron grunted—he didn’t sound disappointed, you couldn’t grunt your way through disappointment—and his grip on Starscream loosened.

Starscream kicked him a second time, quick, before Megatron could set him aside.

“Don’t fuss,” said Megatron immediately, his arms nearly but not quite crushing Starscream’s plating. “You’re so small and—”

“Injured,” supplied Rung. His hand was cupping Starscream’s cheek now, and Starscream allowed himself to relax into it. It felt good to let his helm loll, just for a moment. He’d fight back in a moment.

“Injured.” Megatron’s voice rumbled through Starscream’s frame. “Why not just lie down with us and rest?”

Starscream squirmed, but he couldn’t muster more energy than it took to turn his head to mouth at Rung’s palm. Megatron didn’t have the same problem. The room tilted and Starscream found himself bundled into place, lying curled on his side with Megatron wrapped around him. His wings crammed against Megatron’s chest, Megatron’s arm over his shoulder, Megatron’s leg thrown over his hip. Normally Starscream would be clawing and biting his way free, but his processor felt as if it were… slowing. Like he was already in recharge, and he just didn’t know it yet.

“That’s it,” murmured Megatron. “He’s sweet like this, isn’t he, Rung? Did it take you long to perform your mnemosurgery?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Rung fit himself into place, his arms winding around Starscream’s waist and one leg threading between Starscream’s thighs, rubbing lightly against Starscream’s panel. “Starscream can be sweet when he wants to be.”

Starscream opened his mouth to argue, and Rung stretched to kiss him. Starscream forgot what he’d wanted to say, lost in the slick slide of Rung’s lips. Megatron murmured something, incomprehensible in the distance, and then kissed the top of Starscream’s helm. Starscream nearly choked on Rung’s tongue in shock.

Megatron was never _ tender _with Starscream. Tolerant, maybe. Amused. But he’d never held Starscream so carefully or deigned to tell Starscream what he wanted to hear. Not like this. When they slept in a berth together it was always Rung in the middle, and Starscream would make his escape after an hour or two, leaving Rung and Megatron tangled together and oblivious to his absence.

Maybe, thought Starscream, as Megatron’s hand wandered to pull Rung flush against Starscream’s front, maybe there was something to this whole _ trust in intimate relationships _slag after all. He resolved to never, ever tell Aglet he might have been right.


End file.
